It's like high school holds two different worlds, revolving around each other an never touching; the haves and the have-nots. I guess it's a good thing. High school is supposed to prepare you for the real world, after all.

Feelings aren't forever. Time waits for no one, but progress waits for man to enact it.

People need other people to feel things for them," she said. "It gets lonely to feel things all by yourself.

But it does not tell you this: that love will turn the whole world into something greater than itself.

That is what hatred is. It will feed you and at the same time turn you to rot. It is hard and deep and angular, a system of blockades. It is everything and total. Hatred is a high tower. In the Wilds, I start to build, and to climb.

I wonder if this is how people always get close: They heal each other's wounds; they repair the broken skin.

Everything looks stark and vivid and frozen, as though drawn precisely and outlined in ink - parents' smiles frozen, camera flashes blinding, mouths open and white teeth glinstening, dark glossy hair and deep blue sky and unrelenting light, everyone drowning in light - everything so clear and perfect I'm sure it must already be a memory, or a dream.